


Time and Place

by tjs_whatnot



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't start what you don't want to finish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Place

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by Cookie Laura. All remaining mistakes are all mine.

“Sir, raise your arms, shoulder height, if you please,” Neal said demurely. This was his favorite part of his job – any job he’d ever had actually – this playing pretend, getting to be someone else for a while.

Peter did as he was told and Neal had to admit that this was his second favorite part of any job he and Peter got to pull together; from time to time, he got to order Peter around and Peter had to do what he said. It was dizzying.

He pulled the thin tailor-tape across the expanse of Peter’s back starting at his neck, over his shoulders and down to his fingertips. Neal had once thought of a career in fashion. Not as a tailor like he was attempting to be now though, there was no glamour in that, too many pricked fingers and not enough magic. For him, it was about the design, the illustration, the cut, the textures, the choosing of fabrics, the way they felt as he ran his fingers across their slick fibers.

“Found anything yet?” Peter whispered when Neal was stretched out behind him.

He looked up to where a camera sat rotating in the corner of the ceiling. He knew they were being watched and was worried about lip-readers on the payroll. He rotated around so he was standing in front of Peter and smoothed the course cotton of the shoulder of Peter’s knock-off Oxford with only mild distaste; if he’d actually been allowed to fashion a new wardrobe for his boss, he’d have considered it a great service to everyone.

“The shipment comes in tomorrow morning,” he whispered back.

“You sure?”

“Kalinco had a long meeting with a thug type, an envelope was exchanged and I’ve been told not to come in until the afternoon. The work has to be done before then. They’re probably working through the night.”

He’d always thought thieves, conmen and forgers were original, but soon after working with Peter he’d discovered there was a reason cons had titles “The Phoebe Cates,” and “The Icebox.” They were tried and true, and repeated… a lot. This was the third time they had busted a smuggling ring sewing contraband into their garments. The first time had been fiber-optic threads that held holographic code for European currency, Neal’s favorite by far. The second had been gold in the threads of designs for celebrity events — Neal had actually got to touch the suit that Clooney wore to the Oscars that year — after the threads were removed and replaced that is. This time it was blood diamonds, Neal’s least favorite.

Neal wasn’t sure if it was the repetitive and therefore tedious nature of the scam that irritated him, or the lack of finesse in general. Either way, he wanted it to be over.

“Okay,” Peter whispered, then startled. “What are you doing?”

Neal had fallen to his haunches in front of him. “What does it look like?”

Peter blushed instead of answering. Neal laughed. “Such a dirty mind, sir. I’m measuring your inseam, if you don’t mind.”

“My inseam is fine,” Peter hissed, stepping back to his heels slightly.

“If you want me to make it through today, then you’re going to have to suck it up and let me do _my job_.”

Peter remained red-faced. “Very bad choice of words, Neal.”

Neal looked confused for a second, trying to remember what he’d just said as he aimlessly gazed at the other man’s crotch. 

“Peter! Get your mind out of the gutter, seriously!”

“Well, I’m sorry, I don’t know where else to put my mind when people go where you are presently located.”

Neal’s mind went there too and he decided to stop talking. Focusing on work was what was clearly required. He stood up and measured Peter’s arm length instead, but standing under Peter’s gaze was still proving too intense. Walking around to his rear side seemed safer to Neal, until he placed his hands on Peter’s neck and spread them along his shoulders. His gloriously muscled, broad shoulders. He felt the hair on the back of Peter’s neck rise and his muscles tense.

“Are you almost done?” Peter whispered, but there was a definite whine to it this time.

“I got all night,” Neal returned, just to see if it would get a response in Peter’s pulse point, which he’d wrapped his finger around.

Peter’s blood was practically reverberating in its veins.

“Neal,” he said in a low, warning timbre.

“Peter.” Neal tried to emulate the tone.

“Time and place.”

Neal reached around and took the ends of the tape in both hands, bringing it back around to measure Peter’s waist. “You’re saying there _is_ a time and place for this?”

Peter growled. “You know what they say, don’t start conversations you don’t want to finish.”

Neal swallowed hard. “I don’t think that’s the actual expression, but I take your meaning.”

“Yeah?”

Neal came to stand in front of Peter again, making eye contact as he raised Peter’s arms before placing the tape gently under his armpit and dragging it down to his hip. “Yeah. I would love to have that… conversation with you. Whenever you are ready.”

Peter looked at him sternly, then nodded his head slightly.

Neal walked around him one more time, brushing his hands along Peter’s arms, his back, his shoulders. If he had to wait an indeterminate time to get to touch Peter again, he wanted to commit the feel of it to his memory.


End file.
